


The More I See You

by zauberer_sirin



Series: Cousy RomCom Challenge [6]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Director Daisy Johnson, Drunkenness, F/M, Friendship/Love, Future Fic, Introspection, Love Confessions, POV Skye | Daisy Johnson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 08:45:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14016558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/pseuds/zauberer_sirin
Summary: Written for the RomCom Challenge at johnsonandcoulson.com - Prompt: "Daisy has to go pick up a drunk Coulson and get him back home (or viceversa - bonus points if Mack is also there and drunk for extra adventure)"





	The More I See You

Coulson is a sad drunk.

Which does not surprise Daisy because _she_ is a sad drunk.

She’s a bit more surprised that Mack isn’t sober enough, and had to call Daisy to help him get Coulson back to the plane.

The mission hadn’t been easy, but at least they have a breath before they have to go back home, so Coulson and Mack had decided to go have a beer at a nearby hotel, while Daisy stayed in the Zephyr, catching up on some paperwork. She would have loved to join them, but she’s not been Director long enough that she can slack off for a moment - not with the constant feeling that she is not up to the task and any moment people are going to find out it was a bad idea to put her in charge.

She finds both of them in a couch in one corner of the bar, both crouched over their empty glasses. Coulson has an expression she’s never seen before, he looks sad (she’s _definitely_ seen him sad before) but also disarmingly open. Raw.

“Gentlemen, your ride is here.”

“Hey, Daisy,” Mack says, a little friendlier than usual.

“Daisy…” Coulson looks up, his expression lighting up like he’s happy to see her, so happy. And Daisy is not stupid, she knows it’s just the alcohol, but she’s still touched by the idea. Then Coulson starts getting those wrinkles in his brow. “Oh no.”

“What?”

“I’m drunk,” he says.

Daisy and Mack exchange a look.

“That’s the idea of Director Johnson coming to pick you guys up,” Daisy says.

“I shouldn’t…” he starts and then trails off, turning his face away from Daisy, as if particularly embarrassed to be seen like this by her.

Daisy looks to Mack once more. “You think you can help me get him out of the bar at least?”

“Yeah I can try.”

It’s slow but eventually they make it to the Zephyr without any major incident. Mack is apologetic, insisting that they were just celebrating the mission, having a good time. I’m not your mom, Daisy thinks. But she plans of telling all about this to Elena, so she can tease Mack endlessly about it. Which he probably suspects, and that’s why he’s being so helpful. Meanwhile Coulson has stayed silent the whole trip, looking more and more miserable as they approach their destination.

“Can you take it from here?” Mack asks as soon as they are inside the plane, obviously eager to go to bed and sleep it off himself.

“Sure, go ahead.”

It’s not like Mack was helping too much, anyway.

He basically drops Coulson in Daisy’s arms.

“I’ll let Elena know you made it back okay,” she tells Mack.

“Elena!” he says loudly, as if suddenly remembering her existence and also being very happy about her existence.

Daisy chuckles as he disappears down the hall, though she is always a little envious. She’d like to have someone be that happy about _her_ existence. She turns to Coulson, and slips one arm under his shoulder, to hold him up. He feels hot, she means _warm_ , warmer than usual. Not that she usually gets to touch him this much. But he feels drunk-warm, and very soft to the touch.

“Okay, agent, let’s try making it to your door,” she whispers, encouraging Coulson by squeezing his shoulder.

He nods, and he is as collaborative as the alcohol in his system allows him to be.

“I’m sorry,” Coulson slurs his words. “Am I too heavy?”

“What? No, it’s okay,” Daisy says. No offense to Coulson, he has many nice muscles, but she’s used to doing pretty heavy lifting in her training. “Thank you for not being a tall guy.”

“I’m not tall?” he asks, sounding alarmed.

Daisy laughs. Well, you’re not Lincoln, she thinks. Or Miles. Or… she wonders about this line of thought.

But Coulson is still looking at her with pleading eyes, as if she had said something very hurtful.

“You’re the perfect height,” she tells him, tapping his shoulder a bit from where she’s holding him.

He beams at her, with a stupid drunken smile. Daisy thinks Coulson should smile more often, even if it’s just stupid drunken smiles. It suits him.

“Careful, a corner,” she tells him, pushing his body through the door first, but holding him by the hips.

It’s a feat, opening the door to his bunk while holding him up with one hand, but Daisy has always been resourceful.

“Now, let’s get down, slowly, slowly,” she places him, limb by limb, on his bed.

“Thank you.”

“Oh we’re not finished.”

The real battle starts now, she thinks, sitting on the edge of the bed and grabbing Coulson’s foot. He starts undoing the laces on his boot.

“I can do that,” Coulson protests, trying to sit up, managing to prop himself a bit.

“Can you?” Daisy asks.

“No,” he admits, grunting, clearly unhappy.

He’s more help with the t-shirt, even if at times Daisy notices him going shy - it’s not like, so drunk, he can hide anything, not even his shyness, the way he keeps turning his body away from Daisy, like he doesn’t want her to see him in a t-shirt. She grabs his arm and gently pulls him back towards her. Eventually he gives up resistance, letting Daisy slip the shirt off his shoulders.

Things get a lot less amicable when Daisy goes for his belt. Coulson fumbles, trying to push her away.

“I can do _that_ ,” he claims.

Daisy tilts her head and raises her eyebrow (normally she’d only need one of those gestures, but Coulson is pretty drunk).

“Can you?”

He stares up at her, pursing his lips.

“No,” he says between his teeth.

Daisy sympathizes. The last thing she wants is to make him uncomfortable, when he’s not quite in control of his actions, when he has to be tended to by a fellow agent. Well, by his boss, technically.

“Hey, if the roles were reverse, wouldn’t you want to take my pants off?” she asks very gently.

Coulson chuckles.

“Okay, playboy, bad wording but… wouldn’t you want to _help_ me?”

He looks at her very intently.

“I always want to help you,” he says, very heartfelt.

“I know. So let me take your pants off?” she tries again - he nods. And he’s not that far gone that it’s any difficulty, really. The trousers are on the floor in no time. “See, it wasn’t that bad.”

“You don’t need my help, though,” he adds. Daisy looks up. “No, it’s good. I’m happy you don’t need my help, you never did.”

Daisy thinks that’s crap, she’s always needed him, but she also thinks this is not a conversation she wants to have while Coulson is drunk. And he sounds genuine about being happy she doesn’t need him.

“Of course I need you. Who’s going to explain the fancy oven settings to me so I won’t blow up our kitchen?”

Coulson snorts. “It’s not your fault,” he tells her, and he reaches out to pat her hair, sounding ever so understanding. “You lived in a van. It’s not your fault.”

The drunken-voice is beginning to turn into the sleepy-voice.

“Are you okay? Do you need me to-?”

Coulson clicks his tongue. “My prosthetic,” he points out.

“Oh, right, sorry.”

She doesn’t know much about Coulson’s bedtime rituals, and shamefully she doesn’t know much about the maintenance of his prosthetic either; she has tried not to think too much about it, because even years later she still feels responsible. If she hadn’t fallen for Jiaying’s lies Coulson wouldn’t have lost his hand.

“So I just-”

“Yeah, it’s easy,” Coulson tells her.

He extends his arm, Daisy feeling like he’s trusting her blindly with something so important, wanting to live up to his trust. He’s right, it’s not hard to detach the prosthetic. Soon she hear the click.

“There’s a case on the nightstand,” he says.

“I’ve got it, don’t worry.”

She puts the prosthetic away carefully, making sure it’s charging. It’s one of the heavy duty ones, it’s better if it gets some juice straight away. When she turns back to Coulson he’s holding his left arm, cradling it against his chest, rubbing the skin around the dock. Daisy still hates that he lost his hand because of her, but this is who Coulson is now, and she thinks he looks beautiful, the whole of him. She rests her hand on his upper arm, caressing him lightly.

Coulson, even though a veil of drunkenness, seems to understand the gesture, and appreciate it.

“Thank you.”

“That’s enough thank yous for tonight. None of them needed.”

“Daisy, you don’t get thanked enough, Daisy.”

She smiles at the repetition of her name. And it’s nice to be told you should be thanked more.

“You do so much and we never thank you,” Coulson goes on. “When you got Fitz and Ward out of Silesia, or Russia, I don’t know, I don’t think they ever thanked you.”

God, that was a million years ago. Daisy pats his shoulder.

“That was a long time ago, it’s fine.”

She watches him chew the inside of his cheek.

“I didn’t want you to…” his voice is too soft to follow. He speaks louder next. “I didn’t want you to think I was trying to fight your battles, back then. I thought you wouldn’t have liked that. But I should… I _should_ have made them thank you. More often. When I was the boss.”

He looks too sad and regretful.

“I don’t want you to worry about that stuff,” Daisy says. She’s a bit taken aback to discover Coulson thought so much about that, about what she would have wanted him to do, how to respect her as an agent.

She wishes she can be half as thoughtful when it comes to her agents.

Secretly she hopes he was extra thoughtful because of her, but she knows Coulson, he’s just like that, always thinking about others. Sometimes that’s a bad thing, but then again she guesses he’d say the same thing about her.

“This is the nice part,” she tells him as she pulls the blanket over him, sort of kinda tucking him. Not something she ever thought she’d do to Coulson.

This time - Daisy thinks exhaustion is beginning to settle in - his body seem to simply accommodate to Daisy’s wishes and commands, he’s like liquid in her hands, and soon he’s resting under the covers.

“I’m sorry I made you… do this,” he says.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Daisy says, shaking his shoulder a little. “It’s not a big thing.”

He sighs again, then he wiggles his whole body, trying to get comfortable. He looks kind of funny lying there, and small and soft and Daisy for a moment wants nothing but to get in bed as well, because it must be nice, having Coulson - even a drunk Coulson - by your side all the time, not just designing the ops or having your back on the field. Just have him there, all the time. Absolutely unrealistic and selfish, but nice. The idea that she could stay here with Coulson, instead of going to her bunk, alone.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, looking up at the ceiling. “I guess I’m a little lost these days.”

Daisy lies next to him, propped on her elbow so she can look down at his face. Perhaps not something she’d do if he weren’t drunk and most likely unaware of what’s going on. But this is a vibe she’s been getting from Coulson lately, and maybe drunken he can loosen up enough to let it out.

“Is it because I’m the Director now?”

“No, no,” he says. Then he sighs. “Yes.”

“Oh.”

She watches as his right hand rises to his chest, scratching a itchy spot through the fabric of his t-shirt; the gesture is so natural and private Daisy feels like a bit of a voyeur, cause she knows Coulson is one vaguely aware of her presence.

“It’s great that you’re Director, it’s what I wanted and want - want,” he says, having trouble getting the words out. “But going back to being an agent, I don’t know-”

“You were an agent before, when Mace was Director.”

“Oh that was - _no_ \- that was different.”

“Different how?”

“I was waiting for you,” he says, sighing again.

She tries to make an “oh” sound again but she opens her mouth and nothing comes.

“It’s too late to figure out where I fit in, to start again,” Coulson goes on. “I’m way too old.”

He says that in a very soft voice, like he’s talking to himself.

“That’s bullshit,” Daisy says under her breath, unable _not to_. “Plus your place is right here,” she says louder, drawing her hand to his chest. Coulson turns his head towards her. She suddenly realizes that looks a bit weird, like she is meaning something else. “In this team. Your place is in this team.”

Coulson’s eyes look very light this close, almost perfect blue.

“You don’t think I’m old?” he asks. He sounds a bit desperate, and also like Daisy alone had the power to decide whether he is old or not, and he would accept her judgement.

“No, I don’t think you’re old,” she says. “I think you’re… Coulson.”

He stares at her - so intensely, sober!Coulson doesn’t look at her like this - like he’s trying to decide if he likes it or not. He gives it a little nod.

Daisy turn on her back, staring at the ceiling like he was doing before. The question has raised something in her; it’s not like she’d wanted Coulson to be anything other than he is, as “old” as he is, she wouldn’t want to change that, but...

“Sometimes I get a bit jealous of the people who knew you before, when you were younger, or even a kid,” she confesses. “I’m glad we met when we met, but I wish we had spent more time together. That we’d known each other for ages, you know. And I’m _very_ glad you won’t remember this conversation in the morning.”

She turns to face him on the pillow and Coulson has fallen asleep, of course, and Daisy is relieved and secretly disappointed.

For a moment she toys with the idea of spending the night here, with Coulson, sharing the bed, how that would be, how nice and not-lonely the night could be. But it would be unfair to him, he didn’t ask her to stay. She does sneak a tiny kiss to Coulson’s cheek, though, because it’s not something Coulson would ever let her do while awake and sober, but it’s also something Daisy knows that deep down he wouldn’t resent. With Coulson looking all small and fragile and just as sad as Daisy when she drinks, it was hard to resist.

If the roles were reverse, she’d like a kiss on the cheek herself.

 

+

 

She thought he was going to look worse in the morning, truth be told.

There’s a curious resilience to Coulson, despite how many times he’s been on the other side of death, or almost. Good metabolism too.

He even pours coffee in her mug as a greeting, his demeanor clearly apologetic.

“Thank you,” she says, taking a seat across him. “How are you feeling?”

His hair is damp, sign of a hurried shower, and his eyes look a bit red, but otherwise he looks well enough. Especially because Mack is nowhere to be seen, clearly still asleep.

“Could be worse,” Coulson comments optimistically.

He rubs his cheek absently and Daisy freezes, scared for a moment that he might remember what happened last night, but he doesn’t seem to.

Just a coincidence.

“We have a relaxed schedule today, so you can rest.”

He looks down at his mug, his fingers wrapped around it as if he was warming himself up in a winter morning. It’s not particularly cold right now but Daisy likes the idea, likes a domestic mood for Coulson like that. She imagines somewhere snowing, and the two of them having breakfast and trying to fight the cold.

“About last night…” Coulson starts, and slowly and shyly he lifts his head.

He looks ashamed. Daisy doesn’t want that. after everything they’ve been through together, she would hope he considers her friend enough that he’s not embarrassed at the idea of Daisy seeing her drunk. Okay, that sentence got away from her, but it’s early and she still hasn’t processed her coffee and Coulson is looking at her with those eyes.

“It’s okay,” she tells him.

“I hope I wasn’t too unpleasant,” Coulson says.

“No, no, don’t worry about that.”

Unpleasant? Is that his worry? That Daisy would find him disgusting when drunk? There are disgusting drunks in the world and Daisy has had to deal with her share of them. Coulson is not one of them. Part of her was almost happy that she got to see him like this; she understands the reasons why Coulson is not comfortable with looking vulnerable in front of others, and they are not petty or some misguided macho ideal. They are the same reasons Daisy is not comfortable looking vulnerable in front of people, even though she can’t help it happening over and over. Even if Coulson didn’t mean for it to happen, it still makes Daisy a bit happy, that he showed her a part of himself she’d never seen before.

“Still…”

“Coulson-”

“Thank you for coming to pick me up at the bar,” he tells her, very solemnly.

Daisy shrugs it off. “A Director has to take care of her agents.”

“You never made me pick you up because you were too drunk to find your way.”

“No, but my dad tried to kill you a couple of times. I think so far my job’s easier.”

He chuckles, not a sound that’s easy to tear from Coulson, believe her, she has tried.

“My folks are dead, so I think we’re safe on that matter,” he jokes. Badly.

But then he makes a sighing noise, like the one she heard come out of his throat last night. And then he reaches across the table and puts his hand over Daisy’s. Very loosely, touch light as a feather.

Daisy looks up - she had to glance at his hand covering hers - and finds him staring.

He’s staring…

A bit like he did last night.

Like trying to decide something.

He gives her a little nod.

“I wish we had spent more time together, too.”

Daisy parts her lips silently, seconds passing before she can form a couple of words.

“You heard-”

“I heard you.”

He touches his cheek again, this time not so distractedly.

Daisy draws a sharp breath, her heart aching with something she didn’t have name for before last night.

“I feel like I’m a little less lost this morning…” Coulson says.

He closes his fingers around Daisy’s hand, where the grip was loose now he squeezes, the subtle the unmistakable message getting across over the kitchen table, over two mugs of coffee, a shared vibrant silence.


End file.
